


Workplace Relations

by EvilFuzzyDoom



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Sex In A Cave, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-26
Updated: 2012-09-26
Packaged: 2017-11-15 03:48:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilFuzzyDoom/pseuds/EvilFuzzyDoom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Demoman and Miss Pauling enjoy some unprofessional conduct.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally cross-posted to TF2Chan.net in 2010.
> 
> I wrote this partly because the Demoman doesn't get enough love. This was my first time seriously writing a woman character in any great detail, let alone from her perspective. It may all go horribly wrong. I also don't bother with accents, although the Demoman is a Scotsman with a thick brogue for those unfamiliar with TF2.
> 
> Credit to Tantarted's "The Day the Entire Team Went Grocery Shopping" for the opening's setting, and an old Moccona coffee ad for the first chapter.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miss Pauling bumps into The RED Demoman in the supermarket.

The Demolitions expert Tavish DeGroot whistled idly as he pushed the shopping cart down the aisle. He was browsing powdered milks when, out the corner of one eye, he saw a familiar face at the other end.

"Miss Pauling," he called out, "I was unaware you shopped here." he said as he strolled up to where she was standing.

The slightest hint of crimson crept across Miss Pauling's face before she was able to put on her professional face. This mainly involved standing up straighter and putting her chin up somewhat. She was a little reluctant: she'd been enjoying her weekly slouch. "Of course I shop here, mister DeGroot. There's barely a service station for miles around, this being the middle of nowhere and all."

"All I meant was that I figured this place'd be out-of-bounds to you, owned by that B.L.U. corp. or something."Tavish picked up and examined a jar of instant coffee with disinterest.

"No, it's more sort of neutral. Woolworths manages to keep themselves outside all the messy RED-BLU business." She paused, letting her eyes settle on the Demoman's muscular hand as it gripped the handle of the shopping-trolley. "Wait a moment, if you think this place is a BLU company, why would you shop here?"

"Like you said, lass, it's the middle of fucking nowhere." He put back the cheap coffee. "That and I don't really give a damn."

Miss Pauling smiled, letting her guard down a moment; very unprofessional. The Announcer, her boss, always told her that she needed to be harsh on the men to prevent her from forming any kinds of silly attachments. Still, it was her morning off. She could afford a measure of familiarity. Also, she had just realised that she was rather short, while the Demoman was quite tall.

With a hint of a stutter, she asked Tavish if he could get down a coffee jar from the top shelf above her. As he reached up, standing quite close, she caught a whiff of something that could have been aftershave or could have been the smell of yesterday's battle. Musky, manly and carrying a hint of brimstone.

Tavish snapped his fingers in front of Miss Pauling's face. "I said, was this the one you wanted?"

She shook her head to clear it. "No?" he asked, "Which one then? This one?"

"Yes," she said quickly, not looking at it, "The exotic one. It's a bit like you I guess."

The demoman lifted an eyebrow and curled his lips, "What? It's black and Scottish?"

Pauling's eyes widened as she realised he must have made some kind of hideously offensive remark then she focused on the jar he was holding. It read: Saxton McHale's Black Label Instant Coffee: So strong it'll knock your sporrans clean off!

"Um, yes," she confirmed, "Yes, that's exactly how it's like you. Black and Scottish, ha ha and all that." She watched him drop it into her basket. She watched him very carefully, as the muscles in his powerful arm flexed in all sorts of subtle ways to do something just for her, just as she'd asked. "Thank you, Mister DeGroot."

"It's no problem," replied Tavish, returning to his idle amble along the aisle.

Miss Pauling considered standing still for some time, but swiftly decided that no, it would be unprofessional to watch a co-worker's muscular and probably inebriated backside as it receded down an aisle. Therefore, she did what was only appropriate: with a few hurried, silent steps, she caught up to the demoman and adopted a brisk pace, power-walking past him. He would watch her backside recede and that was the only proper conclusion.

\------------------------------------------

Tavish watched Miss Pauling go. He wasn't aware that he was watching her, his one good eye drifting to her untoned-but-still-quite-nice-now-that-I-think-about-it butt of its own accord, until she disappeared around the corner. He swayed a little, thoughts sloshing around in his drink-addled brain. He figured he'd better just hang around in the aisle for a moment; bumping into her again might be weird.  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The RED Team get their performance reviews.

They next crossed paths a few weeks later when Miss Pauling stopped by the RED base to deliver their monthly performance reviews. Dressed in her "dealing with inferiors" outfit (a suit skirt and blouse), Miss Pauling let herself in through the intelligence room and proceeded towards the mercenaries' quarters. Under her left arm she held a stack of files, one for each of the team members. Her tall heels gave her a few inches more height (she'd found that the Pyrotechnician in particular responded to being loomed over) and her footsteps clacked loudly. She was a little unsteady and her toes would hate her at the end of the day, but she felt it was worth it. Even the Announcer gave her a little more respect when she dressed like this.

Well-dressed and with almost half an hour of looking herself over in the mirror, Miss Pauling felt she could take anything the boys could throw at her. She was a strong woman, their superior, and it was vital that she could be taken seriously. Today, she would be able to hit that sweet spot between authority figure and friend which all middle management strived for.

Her manicured hands turned the key to unlock the door to the bunk area. As she pushed the door open and entered the backstage area, she found herself face-to-face with a set of men's buttocks. This was not something she'd prepared for. She stood silently for a moment, before an electronic "beep" broke the moment and the whole scene registered in her brain.

The buttocks belonged to the Soldier, who was down on his hands and knees staring down the barrel of a sentry gun, no doubt one of the Engineer's toys. Why exactly he was doing this, Miss Pauling was unsure. She and the rest of the support crew had a weekly pool going on the Soldier's antics; she decided that she should put in a few more dollars for this week.

Miss Pauling cleared her throat. The Soldier did not look up. She repeated the action and he did not look away when he responded, shouting as always: "I know you're there, little missy. Don't you go thinking for a moment that I did not see you there! I heard you before you even got on the base: I could smell you coming from a mile away."

"Then why," she asked calmly, like she'd practiced, "Are you doing me the disservice of not looking at me when I want to talk to you?"

The Soldier paused, shifted his weight before replying. Miss Pauling's heart nearly skipped a beat with joy when she realised she'd made him nervous enough to squirm. "I am responding to a challenge of honour; of dignity! This little trooper decided to be fresh with me, so I'm gonna give him the eye until he apologises!"

This was again a surprise. All Miss Pauling could say was "Oh." She'd momentarily forgotten about the Soldier's propensity to speak to inanimate objects. Apparently now they were talking back. She decided that twenty dollars was probably a good amount.

"Well, when he's made his contrition, your performance review is over here. Have a nice day." She stepped gingerly over the Soldier's legs and placed his folder on a bench behind him.

As she walked away, she heard another beep behind her, followed by the Soldier's enraged response. "Oh yeah? You wanna get fresh with me, do you?! Take this, and this!" Sounds of a shovel clanging off metal followed her into the kitchen.

There, she found the Spy and the Heavy, who were having a discussion while the Spy stirred something in a saucepan. Heavy was leaning on the counter trying to have a look into the saucepan in between speaking. She found the Spy bland to look at. She could imagine him in an apron and chef's hat, but decided against it.

"Now, mon ami, it's important not to let the milk burn, so constant stirring is required." He spotted Miss Pauling. "Ah mademoiselle, you have caught us at leisure. Is it that time of the month already?"

Miss Pauling reddened; about to inform the Spy that it was none of his damned business what time of the month it was before realising that he meant the performance reviews. She huffed, "Yes. Yes it is." Then she slapped the two performance reviews down on the kitchen table and trotted off, leaving an amused Spy and confused Heavy behind her.

She ran straight into Tavish DeGroot, losing her balance and nearly going over. Then he grabbed her around the upper arms and held her steady. She could feel his rough hands through her blouse sleeves and her breath caught in her throat for a second before he let her go.

"Are you all right, lass?" He asked.

Some employment-related part of her brain took over from everything else and she responded briskly, "I'm fine, Mister DeGroot. Why wouldn't I be?"

Tavish's head jerked slightly back, "Only, you've dropped all your files. And you seem a little upset."

"I'm not upset," She said, in a voice that completely failed to hide the fact that she was. Then she looked very quickly about her and saw the scattered performance review folders. She thought a moment about her skirt. She used her most authoritative voice to ask DeGroot to pick up the files for her. As he nodded, she realised she was still standing right in front of him, less than a foot from his barrel chest and scruffy beard and kilted muscular thighs.

She took a step or two back and placed her hands on her hips. Tavish took a second before squatting down to pick up the scattered papers. There was a moment when Miss Pauling's brain caught up and she thought she'd find out what a Scotsman wears under his kilt. This turned out to be very tight boxers. She fought off a twinge of disappointment and regained her composure before he stood again, stack of files in one hand.

In spite of every management instinct she had, Miss Pauling's breaths came harder as she put out her hands and reached for the reviews. Her pulse shot up and she felt like the blood had drained from her wrists. She clasped the sides of the stack with both hands and brushed against one of his fingers as she did so. A shiver ran up and down her spine and her skin buzzed as she took them from him.

Suppressing all of this, she had a swift flick through the papers, selected mister DeGroot's file and all the papers pertaining to him and handed them back. Standing up as straight as she could, she looked him in the eye and holding as much quiver from her voice as possible said "Your review, Demoman."

Then she turned around on one heel and went to walk away. She made one step before she felt his hand on her shoulder again, rough as flint and firmly insistent yet gentle as well. "I think you forgot something," he said. A thrill washed through her and she spun round with eyes bright and wide.

Tavish held out a piece of paper, "This one's not for me. I think you'll find the scout's the one with the nose-bleeding problem."

Miss Pauling turned bright red and grabbed the sheet. She was absolutely prepared to storm right out of the RED base when DeGroot leaned in and kissed her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is shorter than all the others. I think I had a more difficult time writing it. Not sure why.

They held their lips together for a long, still moment. As Tavish cupped Miss Pauling's small pointed chin with his hands he could feel her rise onto the tips of her toes, suspended in the air by their kiss. They formed an arch with their bodies, their faces the only point of contact between them. The silence held for ten seconds, twenty, until the sound of a clattering saucepan broke down the wall between Tavish and reality. Reluctantly, with every impulse in his body urging against it, Tavish broke the kiss.

Their lips parted with the slightest noise and he opened his eye, taking in Miss Pauling's flushed cheeks, still-closed eyes and glistening lips. She gave a little gasp and her mouth groped for his, then she pressed her lips closed and ran her tongue slowly along them, savouring his taste still on them. Tavish's own breath was shuddering from his chest and he fought down the urge to kiss her again.

Miss Pauling's eyes cracked open, little dark slivers behind her fogged-up glasses. She lifted her hands from by her sides and brought them up to his chest. He felt the slightest scratch of her nails through his shirt as she opened her hands longingly and stretched her fingers over his broad chest. She pressed up against him and the warmth of her body flowed into him. He could just barely see a peek of vivid red down her blouse.

Tavish wanted to pull her in close, to run his hands over her body and give himself to her. He wanted to taste her and touch her and smell her and hear her every breath echo his own. He wanted so much to lose himself in her arms and lips and thighs.

Instead, he put his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her from him. "Missy," he said, "I think you need to leave."

Her hurt eyes shot up, "What?"

Miss Pauling's perfume hit his nose, soft, sweet and flowery. He stammered over saying, "I'm sorry Miss Pauling, but I think you really should go. We'll get in a lot of trouble." He tried to subtly clench and unclench any muscles Miss Pauling wouldn't notice him moving, in a vain attempt to disperse the raw energies building up inside his body. It had been like this for days, on and off. Though it had meant nothing to him when it had happened, every time he'd thought about seeing her in the supermarket he'd found himself uncontrollably turned on. His memory highlighted for him every sensation that he'd missed at the time; her breathing, her flushed cheeks, her distraction and her beautiful arse. He'd replayed the encounter so many times in his mind, while drunk and while sober, with company and while alone, to the point where thinking about her even in passing would leave him in a mood where he'd have killed his own mother in order to have Miss Pauling.

And now he was telling her to leave. He was telling her to leave because only now had he realised the insanity of being attracted to the middle management in his particular line of work. These were people who'd order a massacre over a five-cent difference in postage costs, who'd wipe a town off the map if their mayors endorsed independent hardware stores, who'd even work with Englishmen if it would get their goals accomplished. He'd crossed them once and had been lucky to get out of it alive.

She was still looking up at him, looking as if she was either about to burst into tears or a screaming fit. He mustered up as much earnestness as he could. "You really, really need to go. Now."

She fled in tears, stopping only to dump the stack of disordered performance reviews in front of the bewildered Medic.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tavish & Miss Pauling spend some quality time thinking about each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone who enjoyed this described it as "long-distance relations". I'm pretty happy with how it turned out.

Tavish rolled onto his back. He'd been trying to think about sticky-bomb adhesive integrity for some time now. He rolled onto his side. The clock showed the time as three-fourteen in the morning. His drink haze had passed at around one to be replaced by the nagging headache he usually got before a proper hangover kicked in. He rolled onto his front, pulling his arms up under his fluffy white pillow to support his head. He continued to try to think about sticky-bomb adhesive integrity, or grenade reflection vectors, or anything along those lines: anything professional, anything boring; anything that wasn't Miss Pauling.

She found herself staring up at the ceiling, unsure as to what time it was since she'd thrown her own clock across the room some time ago. Her eyes were wide open. Her fingers drummed a pattern on her flannel-covered stomach under the blankets. Her toes were twitching. She hummed a little tune to herself, something to pass the time while she counted the sheep on her pyjamas from memory (thirty-seven). Miss Pauling was desperately trying to keep her mind occupied by anything that wasn't Tavish DeGroot.

Of course, both of them were having a difficult time of it. The kiss, which had briefly locked them away from the realities of their RED-BLU world, played over and over through their minds. Miss Pauling could remember the bristly hairs of his beard against her mouth, the firm insistence of his hands around her shoulders and the titillating peek up his kilt. Tavish's mind lingered over the depth of her breathing, the desire in her lips and the feeling of her slight body against him. Despite being separated by miles, they were together in the moment.

Whether it was the weariness of the hour or the strength of his lust, Tavish found his conviction waning. Miss Pauling filled his mind. He could smell her, see her standing before him. He wanted her and there was nothing wrong with acknowledging that. He brought himself back to the moment when they had been together, alone in the hallway. He focused on the stack of papers in her hands, the stillness of the corridor, the dim artificial base lighting, but most of all he focused on her.

Miss Pauling let her breathing intensify as she pictured Tavish standing before her, single eye closed and face leaning in. The drumming on her belly stopped as she closed her eyes and returned his kiss, more deeply and passionately than she had at the base. Like before, she ran her hands up his chest and tested it with her nails; the slightest scratch before her firmly-placed palms somehow drew her further into his embrace.

Tavish closed his eye and held her tightly, allowing his arms to pull her close and one hand to gently run along her cheek and behind her hair. He imagined her scent again, spring flowers and sweet woody smells mingling with the base's persistent man-musk of sweat and oil and guns. He felt himself harden as he imagined her lips and tongue upon his own, her taste of too-strong peppermint made faint and distant by the movement of her mouth. He shifted his naked body against his crisp, base-washed sheets.

Miss Pauling could smell the base too, and she drank it in, inhaling the imagined aroma with a deep breath through her nose. She felt the beginnings of a stirring below; she allowed her hands to sneak through the gap in her pyjama top to start gently touching the soft, pale skin of her belly. One of the buttons came undone as fingers were drawn across her stomach. She imagined that they were Tavish's, rough and thick and calloused rather than small and slim and manicured. His meaty hand slipped into her blouse, the dark skin a rich contrast with white cotton.

In Tavish's mind he did not break their kiss as he slowly slid his left hand around Miss Pauling's side. He still held her face close to his own as his fingers advanced implacably, the blouse coming untucked as he did so. They snaked their way along her skin, barely touching but raising goosebumps and eliciting a sharp intake of breath. She broke the kiss to look into his eye with parted lips that glistened.

As she pictured his lustful face Miss Pauling pushed her legs together at the thighs. She felt the moistness there and the heat, just from thinking about Tavish's face. As one hand made its way up to her breast, the other slipped under the band of her pants. She thought of the Demoman massaging her breast and kissing her neck: rough fingers rolling her flesh and softly pinching her nipple through her bra, to contrast with lips planting roses of sensation along her sensitive skin.

Tavish could practically hear Miss Pauling moan as he imagined touching her and kissing her, and he sighed as he stroked himself. He thought of her sighing as he squeezed her breasts (not knowing that he'd overestimated their size). He imagined her pressing against his groin and finding him hard and pressing harder again. He wanted her and turned her and reached between her thighs while her hand moved up under his kilt and her fingers wandered through his y-fronts.

Miss Pauling almost felt her fingers snaking into Tavish's underwear as he unbuttoned her blouse to expose her crimson bra. As she exposed his thick Scottish member (which she imagined a little larger than it really was) she moaned in delight at Tavish's quick work between her legs. His fingers were moving just as she liked it – no, loved it – when she'd had the temerity to work herself over. She became lost in the sensation of his fingers' motion as she imagined the feeling of his erection in her grip.

Running his palm over the head of his shaft to catch a little lubricant, Tavish kissed Miss Pauling deeply while his fingers plunged inside her. He pictured her bucking with his entry and imagined her muffled moans as he used two curled fingers to stimulate her. The hand around his dick was hers, tugging vigorously and drawing a growl of a curse from between his lips.

At precisely three-twenty-nine, both Miss Pauling and Tavish DeGroot swore through deep, delicious, post-orgasmic breaths:

"Fuck. That was just getting good."

Both knew that this was not something that was just going to go away.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demoman, Pauling and Scout take a lift to inspect a new combat zone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re-reading this I enjoyed my Scout. I should write more Scout.

Tavish and the Scout stepped into the industrial lift, soft light from dying globes illuminating the red-painted cage. The Scout was being his usual obnoxious self, bitching about the confinement of the new battleground, about the way relocations always gave him hives, about how he couldn't stand gravel, about how if he got backstabbed one more time he was going to make a motherfucker pay for it. Tavish had of course foreseen the Scout's unbearable whining and gotten himself ridiculously drunk before coming along to the inspection. Everyone else had made excuses and Tavish cursed himself for not doing the same.

Tavish leant heavily against a support beam and thumbed the intercom button. "Alright," he slurred into the microphone, "We're ready to go down now." He ignored the Scout's snicker as a R.E.D. civilian engineer's voice acknowledged him and the lift drives shuddered and whirred to life. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the ride down.

When the lift cage came to a halt with a jarring, bone-shaking halt that would have probably sent him sprawling if he hadn't been staggering anyway, he opened his eyes. When he did so, several thoughts passed through his head in quick succession: What is she doing here? I'm a bloody fool. How could I forget something like that? I'll be a son of an Englishman if she does not look damned sexy in that outfit. I am really, really drunk.

Miss Pauling, of all people, was standing in front of the lift with a stack of clipboards clutched to her breast. A nervous-yet-businesslike smile was on her face and she was wearing the same outfit she had been when he'd kissed her at review time. He made an effort to hide the mixture of surprise and terror he was feeling from showing on his face. He was pretty certain that he didn't do a very good job of it.

To his surprise and gratitude, the Scout's oblivious enthusiasm for a new battlefield saved him from having to say anything. "Hey sweet-cheeks," he teased, grabbing the top clipboard with one hand and obviously snatching a glance down Miss Pauling's top as he pulled the briefing away, "What've you got for us this time? Abandoned mine? Working mine? Caves filled with giant lizards? Tell me! I'm dying to know!" The Scout extended a dismissive hand towards Tavish, "Don't mind my pal Demo here, baby, you show me the ropes and I'll fill ol' red team in!"

Tavish took a moment to adopt a semblance of placidity and mild disinterest. He took a proffered clipboard and followed a few steps behind Miss Pauling and the Scout as she began telling him about the new battlefield. Watching her behind made it almost impossible to listen to her briefing as his thoughts wandered uncontrollably to thoughts of sex and how much he wanted to have it with her. He made as little a contribution to the discussion as he could; nodding and expressing reserved enthusiasm mainly, all the while hoping that the liaison wouldn't notice his rock-hard erection. He looked at the wall and winced at the awful pun.

Miss Pauling, to her credit, was doing a sterling job of hiding her arousal at seeing Tavish again. Much as she hated it, the Demoman had been right about the impropriety of a workplace relationship between them. It was indeed not only immoral and impractical but a breach of contract as well, something liable to get them both in very very severe trouble. Her hormones, however, were unaware of this and she realised that she was leaking through into her underwear. She hoped that the dousing of powerful perfume she'd given herself that morning would hide the smell. At the Announcer's suggestion she'd replaced her flowery, soft perfume with a businesslike green one. Helen had said that a true woman smelled like work, and that lawn-mowing was the most work that men could be trusted with. She'd then ranted for at least an hour about the lacklustre staff at the office kiosk and how her tradesmen were wising up to her. Miss Pauling liked Helen's rants; they helped remind her of her grasp on reality.

The Scout stopped and sniffed. "Is it just me babe or does this place smell funny to you?" Miss Pauling stopped in her tracks (Tavish stumbled, righting himself on the rock wall in order to not crash into her). Scout must have taken her abrupt stop for incredulity, because he continued: "Swear on my ma, I can smell something; kinda fishy, kinda spicy. Not something I recognise."

Miss Pauling allowed herself an inward chuckle: no, of course he wouldn't recognise it. Either he was a baby-faced virgin or a raging queer. She was repeatedly surprised by the number of men in the mercenary business, who made Mr Hale look subtle. She seized on the moment: "I had salmon for breakfast, Scout. Also, you will refrain from calling me 'babe,' 'sweet-cheeks,' 'sugar-tits' or any other inventive pet-names from now on or I shall be including a recommendation that your pay be docked. Is that clear?"

For his part, the Scout looked for a moment like he was intimidated. It didn't take. "Ooh, I'm scared sugar-tits. You want a mint?"

After a few minutes of unproductive shouting at the Scout, Miss Pauling announced that the tour was over and that the R.E.D. team would just have to figure out the new battlefield from the briefings she'd provided. Tavish, having taken the opportunity to lean against a rock face and sober up a little, gladly followed Miss Pauling as she started for the elevator. He barely stumbled as the Scout nudged him in the ribs and gave him a wink, "Do ya think I'm in?" he asked, a stupid grin plastered over his face. Tavish gave him a half-hearted chuckle in response and stepped around Miss Pauling to enter the lift. He carefully avoided her gaze, not noticing her doing the same.

When they were all in, the Scout buzzed up that they were ready to go and the cage began its shuddering ascent. They travelled without talking, the noise of the engines making it difficult to speak. Tavish frowned. Despite his intoxication that last thought got through. Why was it so noisy going up when he'd had to listen to the Scout's complaining all the way down?

As he was about to shout a warning, Miss Pauling turned, obviously having had the same thought. Neither of them were able to speak before the lift shook, knocking them all off their feet. For a few seconds Tavish felt his stomach lurch and he knew they were falling, before the emergency brakes kicked in. The lights went out. The Scout swore. Tavish swore. Miss Pauling swore, then apologised.

"Is everybody okay?" asked the Scout, deciding in his youthful bravado that he was in charge of everybody's safety. Tavish croaked a yes; although his head was swimming and he felt like he was going to throw up, that was fairly normal for him. Miss Pauling replied with a no. Tavish had a moment of panic as she explained that she'd hurt her ankle in the fall. Scout asked her if she was able to stand on it and after a few seconds of colourful cursing, she said that she couldn't.

Tavish heard the Scout get up and feel around for the intercom. There were a few hollow clicks as he tried it and confirmed that it was broken. "Alright," he announced, having clearly come to a decision, "I'm gonna go get help. Demo guy, you stay here and keep sugar-tits company. I'll see what's wrong."

Even in the complete darkness Tavish could feel Miss Pauling's hot anger directed at the Scout. "Do you have any idea how far down we are, you idiot? We're still at least half a mile underground and there are no places to stop between here and the surface!"

"Well," he replied, "I'd better start climbing." With that, the cage rocked slightly and clattered as the Scout lifted off the emergency hatch and left Miss Pauling and Tavish DeGroot alone in the dark.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex in a broken-down lift. In the dark. With a busted ankle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was hard work writing. I remain quite uncertain as to whether I got Miss Pauling's side right.

The Scout clambered up onto the ladder and began climbing the rungs, the hollow thumping charting his progress skywards. The noise gradually grew distant and faint, but took minutes to disappear entirely. It was cold, and they were both more than a little scared about what might happen if any of the safeties failed. At the same time, they both felt the thrill of knowing for certain that they were alone, with nobody watching and nobody able to know what went on between them.

Tavish concentrated on remaining alert, partly in an effort to distract himself from thinking about what could indeed go on between them. On the unhelpful side, he felt like a heavy counterweight was doing laps of his brain pan and the only places he had any sensation to speak of were his fingertips, lips and prick. Of course, he thought, no good could come of taking mental note of this fact.

"Mister DeGroot?" asked Miss Pauling, breaking the silence and dragging Tavish from his dirty thoughts. "I -" she stumbled over her words, hesitant, "Um, this blouse doesn't do much against the damp. I'm getting very cold..." she let herself trail off.

Tavish spoke very slowly, somehow maintaining his calm and keeping a slur from his voice. "You'll be wanting me to keep you warm then, while we wait for them to get us out." It took a while for her to respond, quietly asking for him to put his arms around her. He decided against standing up, instead leaning over (a difficult task on its own, which made his head do cartwheels for a second) and crawling to where he thought she was.

He was a little off, dropping a heavy hand onto her injured ankle and drawing a cry of pain from her. He apologised with a quiet "sorry," and went to feel his way up her body. Beginning with her ankle, he reached for her knee then guessed at where he thought her hip would be. His mind caught up with this action just as he felt the soft back of her thigh through the split of her skirt. Miss Pauling stiffened, muscles tensing slightly at the touch. He heard her barely audible sigh and tried to decide to ignore it. After a little shuffling, and a few curses, the Demoman was sitting back against the wall with Miss Pauling in front, his arms cradling her midsection and shoulders.

"W-what do you think has happened?" she asked, almost managing a conversational tone between her sharp breathing. He knew that her breathing had nothing to do with any danger inherent in their situation. He could feel her chest rising and falling, he could feel her heartbeat beneath his knotted forearms, and he could feel the intense warmth radiating from where she was pressed up against him. He replied (in doubtful tones) that it was probably a fault somewhere in the hurried modifications to the mine, made by R.E.D. to facilitate the team's activities. Almost unconsciously, he shuffled his backside and lifted her slightly so that she was sitting in his lap. The heat from her seat penetrated his red fatigues straight through to his restraint. He felt the barriers to his desire fall away and could no longer see any cause not to express his feelings for Miss Pauling.

As he went to kiss her, he found that she had made the first move. With his arms still around her, she was caressing his neck with one hand and stroking his thigh with the other. Feeling him stir, she craned around to face him and pushed his head in until their mouths met. He felt her lips part and her tongue seek his, locking them together in their shared lust. She kissed him forcefully, her nails biting into his corded neck. He felt nothing that wasn't his body or hers; the rough, cold grating of the lift had disappeared into the morass of irrelevant sensations that his drink-addled mind was filtering out. He gripped her in return, left hand on a padded bra cup and right hand at her hip. He felt his conscious mind flow away, instinct kicking the door down and taking its place. He felt Miss Pauling's arse grind into his crotch and stiffened at her insistent touch. Her free hand was tightly pinching his inside leg, a tiny pinprick of delightful pain to contrast with the passionate play of their lips and tongues.

A long kiss twisted away, followed by a smacking peck as Miss Pauling attempted to collect her senses for long enough to speak. Between lightning-fast kisses, she breathily expressed her desire for Tavish, "I want you. I want this. I want it more than I've ever wanted anything." She held him in for a long kiss, then pulled him down so that she could touch her lips to his ear, "So quickly, Mister DeGroot. I want you quickly, while we can just be ourselves." She took his right hand from her hip and guided it so that he could pull aside her skirt. She moaned deeply as he brushed his fingers against her inner thigh and down towards her moistened underwear. Her next words came as a shuddering sigh with no voice at all behind it: "Fuck me, Mister DeGroot."

Miss Pauling gave a strangled squeal as Tavish pushed aside her panties and slid a finger between her lips. His other hand swiftly unbuttoned her blouse and reached beneath her bra while she lifted herself onto his leg and tugged on his zipper; with a long, metallic sigh, she opened his bodysuit. She turned herself over to straddle his thigh, weight on her knees, and slipped a hand under the waistband of Tavish's underwear. She whispered into his ear again, a hint of mischief in her voice, "I thought a Scotsman wasn't supposed to wear anything under his kilt?"

Tavish let out a heavy breath as Miss Pauling teased his pubic hairs with her nails and kissed his neck. He savoured the feeling of her lips against his skin, each touch like an explosion of sensation, "I normally wouldn't," he replied, "but the Sniper told me off first time I tried to go without." He chuckled, and Miss Pauling snorted, collapsing a little and letting her head rest on his shoulder while she took a moment to regain her composure. A brief second passed and Tavish relaxed, then he gasped as Miss Pauling gripped him firmly around his cock. Her small fingers wrapped tightly and gave a dainty squeeze, and he felt her breath an inch or two from his face.

This, he could not bear. He took her face in both hands and kissed her deeply while she tugged gently at him beneath his pants. Every stroke was a kiss, every kiss a breath as all his nerves lit up with delight at encountering this feeling he'd longed after. His back arched and his thigh rose in time with her motions, and with the motes of control he could muster he raised his leg further to grind against her crotch. She caught on, pushing back against him and groaning in pleasure between their kisses and breaths.

In snatches of concerted effort, they worked Tavish half out of his body suit and dispensed with Miss Pauling's blouse and underwear. With exaggerated care, Tavish removed her bra as well (he had only a little trouble with the clasp) and placed it somewhere they would be able to find it quickly if necessary. Slowly, gently, he explored her body with his hands, feeling her do the same. As manicured nails scratched through his chest hair, his rough paws cupped her modest breasts and slender waist. He cradled her neck as she sat upright then ran his hands down her back til they rested about her hips.

Wordlessly, she lifted her injured leg over his other thigh. He took her weight easily with both hands and held her gently, suspended just in the air. One hand pressed against his sculpted stomach, she freed his erection from his underwear, stroking it a little harder. Tavish felt her touch disappear then return, slick a second later. He stiffened even more, aching to fuck her. He growled, with highland blood pumping vigour through his veins. He lowered Miss Pauling and felt her hand guide him in.

Tavish felt the slightest resistance as he penetrated her; her muscles clenched around him. Slowly, gently, he lowered her until he had slid all the way in. Miss Pauling gave a little cry of pleasure, trailing off into a long, held note that lasted until she was pressed against him all along her length from face to buttocks. Their cheeks mashed together. They breathed raggedly, taking a second to be at one and still. Then Miss Pauling whispered into Tavish's ear, "Mister DeGroot..."

She sighed as he wrapped his arms around her, anticipating her request. Controlling their rhythm with his shoulders and thrusting with his hips, Tavish slid himself slowly out of Miss Pauling, savouring every ridge and dimple. She inhaled a long breath while he did, pausing only at the apex before he reversed the motion and slid himself deep into her again. His own breath was unsteady and wavering, the slow thrust stealing the sensation from the rest of his body and concentrating it all in one place. He was aware of Miss Pauling's back under his fingertips, her cheek pressed against his, her breasts rubbing against his chest and her thighs against his hips, but he couldn't feel them. The only thing he could feel was the silken fire of sex: every fibre of his body lead to one point, and every stroke pulled those fibres tighter by miniscule degrees, winding him up like an old-fashioned bomb timer.

Agonisingly slowly, Tavish pulled out of Miss Pauling again, another soft moan of inhalation passing across her lips. She came to the cusp and made to sigh with his stroke, but it didn't come. Instead, he hung on the edge for a moment, still inside but barely between her lips. A moment of panic passed through her voice and a question began to form itself on her tongue, but this was swept away as the Demoman roughly thrust his cock deeply into her.

Taken by surprise, Miss Pauling screamed at the thrust. Tavish pushed deeply, a rough grunt emanating from him as he did. He did it again. This was for him. This made him feel good. This was rough, primal, instinctual sex. His thoughts came between thrusts and Miss Pauling's alternating cries and kisses. He felt her tighten. She liked it. He noticed that she'd started rubbing her clit. He thrust out of beat, drunken imprecision killing any sense of timing. That didn't make a difference. He could hear her enjoy it. He could feel her enjoy it. He kissed her neck and chest and breasts. He held them in his hands and ran his tongue across her nipples. She was almost screaming with each thrust. He could feel himself edging closer. No. He mustn't rush. He'd make it last.

DeGroot slowed his pace and let Miss Pauling settle a little, gently kissing her and stroking her sides. He touched his forehead and the tip of his nose to hers and they breathed in time with each other. Then he gripped her at the thighs and stood. He lifted her bodily, turning and propping her up against the lift wall. It jostled and shook, but they were too lost in their passion to notice. She settled her bottom on a sturdy hand rail. Both laced their fingers into the cage wall: Miss Pauling's arms were high and wide while the Demoman's were low and close around her hips.

Miss Pauling buried her face in Tavish's neck, muffling herself as he grunted into her hair. She could smell his sweat and taste it on his skin. Each time she felt him inside her was like a key fitting into a lock. He was perfect, every stroke at exactly the pace and angle she needed. His timing kept her off-guard and the uncertainty kept her on-edge. The cold steel of the hand rail was getting through her skirt and felt tantalisingly good. She could feel the roughness of his chest and pubic hair against her skin and his stubbly chin was rubbing against her scalp. He was hot and strong and inside her. She could feel herself edging closer and closer to orgasm. She reached down to touch herself again, two delicate fingers amplifying all her sensations. She felt her stomach clench and her breath catch. Every muscle tensed. She closed her eyes tightly and let the very last of her self-control shut down for a moment.

Miss Pauling bucked against Tavish, falling out of time with his thrusts as she groaned: first through gritted teeth as breaths caught notes in her throat, but building through a whining cry and into a scream of ecstasy. Tavish knew not to stop, slowly winding down his pace as Miss Pauling seemed to calm.

"What are you doing?" she asked, with confusion in her voice. "You're not done yet." She killed any protest he might make by whispering in his ear once more "I want you to come inside me. I'm on the pill."

Tavish didn't need any more encouragement. He swelled with energy and kissed Miss Pauling deeply as he plunged his cock into her. An almost painful knot formed inside him, the strings pulling tight and winding tighter as he ran for his prize. He drove himself, gripping the cage tightly and using the cage to brace his arms as he took a rapid pace. The knot tightened and so did Miss Pauling. Each stroke pushed him towards the edge. Inch by inch, sensation by sensation: Miss Pauling stroking his hair, running her fingers over his face and dragging her nails along his back. His fingers were probably white around the wire of the cage, he could feel sweat running down his face and back and his legs felt like they were in a vice. Tavish's voice rose, cursing in guttural brogue.

Release came and as he felt himself erupt inside Miss Pauling he bellowed his triumph. A shout as long as each thrust escaped Tavish's lips. She squealed in delight as he held his cock deep within her and stiffened with each squirt. He felt the knot inside him unwind; rapidly expelling all the energy that his lust for Miss Pauling had built up. Exhausted, Tavish let himself relax and lean into the wall of the lift. Between rough, scratchy breaths he kissed the top of Miss Pauling's head.

She looked up and he kissed her on the lips. They stayed where they were for a long time before Tavish plucked Miss Pauling from her perch and sat back down. In the complete darkness, they curled against each other for warmth, satisfied.

\------------------------------------------

After some time, the lights came on. The Scout's abrasive voice broke the stillness. "Hey, chuckleheads! I solved your problem. We'll have you outta there in a jiffy!"

Tavish and Miss Pauling looked each other in the light, both going pale. As Miss Pauling reached for her underwear, the lift began to move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly, this is the last I wrote of this story. For one thing I ran out of steam (geddit?): writing this was really, really hard work. Also, I wasn't really going for a plot, just an exercise in sauciness. I tried a few times to think about where this would go but there really wasn't anywhere.
> 
> So yeah. Hope you had fun!


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